Free The Highest Frontier by Joan Slonczewski Page B

DIRG had followed, at a discreet distance. Jenny eyed it, still wondering.
    “It’s mine,” said Anouk. “Berthe, my family retainer. To preserve my honor.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry.” She hastily looked away.
    Anouk shrugged. “Not so bad as one inside your head.”
    Jenny wheeled and stared. How could Anouk know about her mental? Of course she’d know, it was out there; ToyNews hid the scars on Jenny’s arm, but the story had leaked.
    “This way, if you please.” Rafael nodded. Herded by their owls, the new students collected in the darkness at the Ohio River. The “river” actually flowed in a ring encircling the southern cap and drained out centrifugally to the spacehab’s outer shell, bringing minerals out to the solar microbes. Fireflies danced all around like stars let loose from the sky. Above the “peep, peep” of the frogs, some other creature called, “Oo-oo-oo oo-aw .” Some hidden denizen of the trees.
    “ Vamos, little frogs,” called Fritz Hoffman, the Bulls pledge educator. His call was echoed by the other owls. The new students clustered at the riverbank, craning their necks for a look. From her height, Jenny looked above the crowd toward the river.
    Out of the river emerged a man in hip waders, the ecoengineer Quade Vincenzo. Vincenzo had an interesting face, a bulbous nose and cheeks that Jenny had to admit were indeed reminiscent of an elephant. Like the Mount Gilead colonists, he wore power bands on his arms and legs, devices that reclaimed energy lost from motion. In one hand the ecoengineer carried a large muddy bullfrog; in the other, a small bright orange frog. “Good to see all you new frogs join our chorus.” Vincenzo’s words filled her toybox. “Frontera is proud of all our fauna, but especially proud of our frog collection.…” He held up the bullfrog. “From good old Rana, Mark Twain’s favorite, to the Dendrobates poison dart frog.” The bright orange one. “A dart frog lays her eggs one by one in separate treeholes, then climbs up each tree every day to feed her tads. Don’t you ever touch one, though.” Vincenzo nodded as if to himself. He put down the two frogs, which soon hopped off.
    Jenny took a wary step back.
    “Now, our most popular, that is to say most prolific frog, is the spring peeper. As you’ve noticed.” Wiping his hands on his waders, Vincenzo put his fingers to his lips and called, “Peep, peep,” exactly like a peeper frog.
    “Frogs!” Fritz called out to the new students. “Time to join the chorus, frogs. ‘Peep, peep.’”
    One of the new frogs tried a half-hearted “peep.” Others joined in.
    Jenny hated group icebreakers. She took another step backward, tripping against Charlie with his foot bandaged from the bear attack. She caught his arm. “Sorry.”
    Charlie smiled, a tough-guy smile like he was still in pain but wouldn’t let on. One of Uncle Dylan’s Chase Scholars, he came from Minnesota, with no twin. “Hey, Jenny, that’s okay. ‘Peep, peep.’”
    “Oo-oo-oo oo-aw .” From the sky something swooped down to the ground, then back up again. A bird? Now that she’d seen it, her eye caught sight of another, and another one swooping to the ground. She aimed her window and zoomed. Strix varia, barred owl. The owl had swooped down and caught something, then flitted back up to a tree where it perched, fluffing its brown-striped feathers. Now the owl had something in its mouth to feed its nestlings. It was a frog. Like all tranquil nature scenes, the river bank was a killing field. The barred owls were swooping down all over, feasting on the thousands of tasty spring peepers.

7
    Jenny awoke Monday in her printout Lincoln bed, thirty-six thousand klicks from home. Her head was a jumble of dreams, so many new faces that she barely recalled Jordi. She took an R-patch from the familiar shelf, and slapped the diad on her forehead.
    In her toybox loomed the pouting Monroe. “Good morning, Jenny,” purred the husky voice of the